


In Orbit

by orphan_account



Series: As We Are [1]
Category: K-pop, Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Sequence, Established Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Romance, Schmoop, Slice of Life, very established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 21:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Now that they’re pushing thirteen years, Jinho thinks they may have to wait for the Milky Way itself to capsize, in fiery smoke and flashes of light, to justify them tying the knot, right before their vessels liquesce and the star stuff that binds them together returns to space.





	In Orbit

Most days, Jinho comes home between 6:13 and 6:15 in the evening.

He drops his keys on the kitchen table because he will have forgotten to hang them on the hook next to the door while slipping his shoes off, but he’ll remember and hang them back up once they’re eating dinner and Hongseok sees them and starts rambling about all the clutter on the kitchen table. Their counters are a mess of Hongseok’s supplements, Jinho’s prawn crisps, and other snacks that have moved out of cabinets for so long they look at home there and don’t get moved even when company is coming and the two are frantically throwing things into boxes to hide in the pantry. The kitchen table is off limits though; for them to cling to some semblance of something something. Hongseok is usually standing on the counter, on a chair, or some other surface, with a stringy taupe dish rag in one hand and old magazine curved in the other.

The sun is starting to set later and later; in the last month or so they have both started being able to eat dinner without any bulbs on. The horse flies are also out, sense impending warmth, which is one of Hongseok’s grievances in life. He’s not good at multi-tasking, which is why Jinho doesn’t greet him on his way in the door, lest Hongseok fall off the counter and fracture his shin again. Ignoring the incessant tremor of horse fly wings as they eat, talk, sleep, is also too much for the other, so he spends the brief window of time he has alone in the evening fly hunting.

“The rag is for cutting them off mid-flight.” Hongseok had explained one morning years back, while they were lying in bed, in a twilight-esque transition from slumber to wakefulness. He was leaning against their oak headboard, half sat up, checking emails. “I need the wide surface area to knock them out of the air, but the rag won’t kill them. That’s what the magazine is for. A book will work too I guess, but who has books lying around these days.”

Jinho had been half awake and his selective memory is bad enough as it is, so he doesn’t really recall anything else, but he had probably replied “You should get one of those electric racquet fly swatters” like he always does when Hongseok’s fly hunting at someone else’s house and they comment on his technique.

Everybody has their eccentricities. Hongseok catches horseflies with a dish tag; Jinho has three shoulders; it’s fine.

“Those seem dangerous.” Hongseok had probably responded, like he always does. “I’d end up electrocuting myself.”

Today Jinho is late, because he had yanked his phone off the charger at an inopportune angle, and the cord had detached from the USB outlet.

Hongseok insists on owning an Apple phone because nostalgia, habit, and the pressure of a Galaxy’s customisations being too much for him to handle, so Jinho can’t just borrow a charger for tonight. He remembers to text Hongseok that he’ll be late though, because he needs to grab a charger at a corner store on the way home, and does so during lunch so he doesn’t forget later.

There was this commercial for a new Samsung phone model that played when Jinho and one of the interns were watching Happy Together on YouTube during lunch break on Tuesday of this week, and it’s for a water proof model that doesn’t need even need a separate case.

“Maybe you’ll finally get Hongseok oppa to switch.” She pointed out, before Jinho could vocalise his thoughts. It was probably her malleable early-twenties frontal lobe that gave her these quick reactions.

“Maybe.” Jinho agreed, wondering when Hongseok will next be in a Happy Together mood.

“Isn’t your anniversary coming up?” Hwitaek had chimed in, joining them with a bowl of instant noodles. “Are you guys doing anything?”

“Why do you know when my anniversary is?”

“It’s close to your birthdays, which are also coming up, so your anniversary must be coming up.” Hwitaek responded easily. “Soojin, if you keep in touch with any of your sunbaes after your time here, make sure it’s not this one.”

“I resent that.”

“Especially with a starting salary working in an audio communications department, you’ll probably need to take out a loan with all the cash you drop on his household in April.” Hwitaek continued while laughing at Jinho’s annoyance.

“Hongseok oppa’s birthday is in April too?” She clarified, surprised.

Fucking Hwitaek.

“It’s actually-”

“It’s not just in April, it’s the _exact same date_.” Hwitaek replied, and soon Jinho was being patronised by a roomful of wiggly eyebrows.

“How long have you guys been together?” Soojin asked, tossing her instant noodles into the trash bin. Fucking twenty year olds; Jinho’s stomach would kill him if he ate that quickly.

“Twelve years.” Hwitaek replied before Jinho could. The problem with promotions was that until you made it into core management, every rung up just meant a wider scope of young people you had to work with.

“Thirteen.” Jinho corrected, just to see if he could get away with it.

“It won’t be thirteen until April.” Apparently he couldn’t.

“Since you started dating or after getting married?” Soojin questioned.

Most interns would definitely not have pressed further, but Hyunggu had probably shown her those photos of Jinho being forced into Disney themed headbands when they went on a group trip last year. People usually start respecting him less after those make their way around; Jinho makes a note to send out fake department evaluation forms to have everyone fill out over email.

“We’re not married yet.” Jinho shrugged, looking back down at his noodles and chewing.

Both of them regained some semblance of respect and changed the subject to Park Myungsoo’s shitty wig.

With the side trip it’s 6:26 when Jinho gets home, but nothing is different because there are apparently three horse flies in their house, so Hongseok is still hunting.

Conservation of something something.

“Two out of three!” Hongseok calls, crouched over next to the oven with the appliance off but light on.

Jinho hums in lieu of a proper response, and when he sees the sink he’s reminded of how thirsty he is, but he doesn’t want to stir the fly, so he sits on the sofa in their studio until there’s a familiar thwack. Hongseok comes over moments later, glass of water in hand.

“Did you remember to get your charger?”

“Yeah.”

“I got takeout.” Hongseok isn’t really capable of _really_ surprising Jinho anymore, but Jinho does find himself caught off guard on occasion. Hongseok doesn’t fuck with his macros unless he’s stressed.

Jinho dances through different topics of conversation in his head as Hongseok goes to grab their food, Thai if Jinho’s olefactoury senses haven’t given out yet, and settles on that moon thing happening in the States next week. Maybe he’ll finally find some use for that single astronomy class he took fourth year of university, for a natural science requirement.

“Have you heard about the eclipse in the States?” Jinho asks, digging around his drunken noodles for a larger piece of pepper. He likes to eat the bell pepper first, because they’re juicy and he doesn’t like their shocks of hot juice if he accidentally eats one absentmindedly. “Apparently Amazon there recalled a shitton of eclipse glasses there so people are selling them for up to 80,000 won a piece.”

“That’s crazy.” Hongseok nods, playing with his curry more than eating it. “My parents and aunt’s family are flying to Chicago to see it.”

That would be why they’re eating takeout then.

“Did your mom call?” Jinho asks, not hiding his annoyance.

“No, she sent out another one of those newsletters.” Hongseok sighs.

“Even if she won’t take you off the list for her dumbass emails, can’t you just set them to spam?” Jinho argues. “I don’t know why that crazy bitch thinks people want to be updated on her shopping sprees. She should just make an Instagram account.”

“My grandma hasn’t been doing too hot recently.” Hongseok explains. “I wouldn’t… I would want to be there. If something happened.”

“Can you just ask your grandma to put you on her medical contacts list? So the hospital will call?” Jinho repeats; his jaw has the muscle memory to have this conversation in his sleep. “Your mom’s too self absorbed to mention anything actually useful in her newsletters.”

“I should do that.” Hongseok agrees, jaw in a similar state, and Jinho eats in silence for a little longer, waiting.

“How was your day? Sans charger struggles.” Hongseok asks after a few beats, eyes glittering again, and Jinho can’t help but smile, even now.

“I think Hyunggu’s spreading those photos of me from Disney again.” Jinho whines, narrowing his eyes. “I’m thinking about asking our tech guy for his login info to make sure the company email’s clean.”

“That’s probably illegal.” Hongseok laughs.

  
___

  
For the first four years of their relationship, Jinho felt like the universe had a countdown running. It was waiting for them to implode, burn, crumble, reduce back into dust and slowly drift back away to their separate orbits. A volatile little love that nobody thought would make it.

After those first four years, the timer seemed to change directions. It’s counting up now, all the years they’ve chosen to be together, stacking up and raising the expectations for an eventual wedding. Most of Jinho’s friends had lucked out, proposing early on, before friends and family started greeting them with “has he bought a ring yet?” instead of “hello.” At this point Jinho’s parents refer to Hongseok as their favourite son, and everyone at work refers to Hongseok as his husband on invitations to weddings or holiday parties. At this point there’s no more catalysts, no more signs, no more outside forces intervening, nothing to ease them into the transition.

Now that they’re pushing thirteen years, Jinho thinks they may have to wait for the Milky Way itself to capsize, in fiery smoke and flashes of light, to justify them tying the knot, right before their vessels liquesce and the star stuff that binds them together returns to space.

He doesn’t feel the weight of over a decade when they’re together, doesn’t think about where they used to be much. Jinho falls in orbit easily, engaging in surface level conversations and short-term concerns as he shuttles himself from home to work to home to play. Work has changed marginally over the years, with homes moving in accordance, and Hongseok just happens to be something that’s stayed the same.

Jinho doesn’t spend every second in reverence of this relationship; bigger picture thinking was a glimmer of hope for him to cling to in his twenties when he was crippled by university fees and working VJ jobs to try and move his way up the KBS social stratification. Now he’s settled into motion, and he’ll take everything for what it is. Hongseok has woken up next to him 4415 times, the moon has circled the Earth 177, the Earth the sun 13.

It takes outside forces to jilt him out of routine, to make him realise that Hongseok hasn’t moved but other things have, and Jinho thought these sappy, nostalgic realisations would hit him when they moved into double digits but it’s the baker’s dozen that actually does it.

Technically speaking, twelve years is more of an estimate than an statistic, because Jinho and Hongseok’s anniversary is more like a birth date you assign to a stray cat you adopt because you like celebrating than an actual beginning to their relationship.

Neither of them can actually remember the date of their first date, but it had been either February twelfth or nineteenth, on a Tuesday. They had sat across from each other, sat in a twenty four hour Thai restaurant, at four thirty in the morning. Exhaustion and fatigue should make them both look grimey, but Jinho remembers watching Hongseok eat, half his face dark because of the streetlights outside casting shadows and half of his face glowing in the brisk morning air.

April second, their actual effective first date, took on the significance it has now because that’s the day Jinho had put himself out there.

It’s summer, hot, and the pair of them are up early on a Saturday, walking through the stalls at a local farmer’s market. The sun had been nice and warm about two hours ago, but at this point it’s a prickly kind of burn and Jinho starts maneuvering himself into Hongseok’s shadow so he doesn’t spontaneously combust.

“The fruit smells more fragrant the warmer it gets outside.” Hongseok says, which Jinho thinks is bullshit but he’s not going to argue food with someone who went to culinary school.

“Meat just gets burnt.” Jinho says, still waking up.

Hongseok finds a nice older gentlemen selling peaches when Jinho’s responses start swerving from funny into mean, and he’s got the white fleshed nectarines for sale, which Jinho prefers, and these unnaturally large yellow flesh ones, which Hongseok grabs because they remind him of his time in San Diego. They grab three each, loaded into a inconspicuously ostentatious burlap sack Hongseok digs out of his back pocket, and find shade to eat.

The closest thing is a short, out of commission newspaper vendor; one of those old metal ones that takes cash and unlocks a latch for you to grab a copy. Jinho squats, making sure at least his face is shielded, and keeps his feet spread so none of the sugary juice dripping down his chin stains his white sneakers.

Hongseok takes out another burlap sack to sit on, leaned up against the old box with his legs comfortably spread and shirt free of peach stains.

“How do you do that?” Jinho can’t help but ask once he finishes his first nectarine, wiping his chin with part of his hand that should still be dry. It’s actually wet, and both parts of his body just end up feeling stickier. He’s hungry, but torn since he feels a little five.

“You have to suck when you bite.” Hongseok laughs, grabbing one of Jinho’s picks and sitting up to feed him. “Like those mini pudding cups. They always have that juice on the top that you have to suck off before you can eat.”

Jinho tries, making an ugly demon noise from he back of his throat the first time he tries, and nearly toppling Hongseok over in fits of laughter. After a few more fails attempted, where he ends up choking on a tiny piece of skin that he sucked in, Jinho gives up and goes back to slobbering over the fruit, doing it quickly, to get it over with.

Hongseok is annoyingly put together when Jinho finishes, clothing unstained, no trail of sticky glucose water running down his forearm and dripping onto the dark asphalt under their feet. Jinho’s a bit peevish, until Hongseok starts sacrificing his clean limbs to wipe Jinho’s face down, the inside of his arms wiping against the damp mix of sweat and peach juice on Jinho’s jaw and neck.

It’s kind of gross.

“Hey.” Jinho says, once they’re done and both standing, grabbing the side of Hongseok’s shirt to make him turn around. He’s scoping out the remaining stalls they have to hit already, leaning into Jinho’s grip.

“Hm?” Hongseok replies, some cherries catching his eye.

“This is a date right? We’re dating.” Jinho clarifies, looking up.

Hongseok’s gaze is steady and answer on it’s own. He looks at Jinho confused, like he wonders if Jinho asks the sun to rise every morning, like he wonders if Jinho reminds the Earth to spin, like he wonders if Jinho reminds the moon to come back every night.

“Yeah.” Hongseok smiles despite himself.

They’re sticky, sweaty, baking outside, and Jinho feels a little dumb, a little happy.

“Good.” Jinho shrugs, dragging Hongseok off by the side of his shirt when the eye contact gets a little heavy.

They’re gross.

___

  
Even forever starts to feel tangible at some point. The closest star to Jinho is the sun; the closest star to the sun is Alpha Centauri A; Alpha Centauri A is 4.3 billion light years away. They’ll never meet, mesh, combine, but even with the cold vacuum of space in between them their light bridges the gap, photons traveling at light speed, meeting in the middle if need be.

How much closer can man be, then, even without ever being the same?

When you’ve been dating someone for ten years there are very few secrets left uncovered. Hongseok’s seen Jinho blackout wasted, seen Jinho half awake on the toilet because there’s where Hongseok sneak attacks with green juices that he makes in that goddam blender Jinho suggested Hwitaek purchase six years ago, seen Jinho feverish and looking a street dweller.

It’s not that they don’t get surprised anymore, don’t experience feelings anymore, it’s just that they run their course differently. None of that innocently hanging out with other people, innocently hugging other people, innocently forgetting birthdays, whoops accidental makeup sex nonsense. If Jinho plops himself down on someone else’s lap, it’s because they got into another argument about whether they should sleep with the fan off and no blanket, Hongseok’s dumbass idea, or fan on and with a cotton throw. And this argument was not borne out a genuine difference in opinion or any effort to compromise—when they had first moved in with each other it had been Hongseok’s moving into Jinho’s tiny studio, Jinho’s bed, Jinho’s rules. Hongseok had adapted and it’s been eight years of fan-on-light-throw, but when Hongseok’s had a particularly brutal customer at work, he just wants to be short with his words.

Jinho knows this, Hongseok knows this, but they’ve got their pride and finish the act anyway.

Makeup sex is still nice.

The last words Jinho’s kept in his throat meander out ten years later.

Jinho has this thing with Hongseok’s shoulder, specifically Hongseok’s left shoulder.

It is his.

So Jinho knows it’s not his shoulder, because it’s Hongseok’s shoulder, but Jinho doesn’t actually understand that it’s not his shoulder. It’s the left one specifically because Jinho sleeps on the left, and it’s the shoulder he’s greeted with every morning, Hongseok having a habit of inching up on the bed throughout the night until his head bangs into the headboard. It’s the shoulder Jinho hides behind when the sun is streaming in and he doesn’t want to wake up yet; it’s the shoulder Jinho favours when he’s sucking rosy welts into Hongseok’s chest; it’s the shoulder at the perfect height for Jinho to nestle his head into when they’re watching TV and sinking into the couch.

Years of slicing, chopping, and whisking mean Hongseok’s entire right arm is a little rougher, muscles a little more inflamed inflamed, and the right shoulder just isn’t as comfortable. Jinho likes the left.

Jinho doesn’t really like other people using his shoulder. Hongseok’s shoulder. It feels like having strangers in his home, going through his stuff, moving into his space. That spot it his.

In later years, when both their social circles have higher coworker to friend ratios, it’s not really an issue, but when they first started dating Jinho had still been a student, and student’s are touchier. They sleep over regularly, get into full body contact fights over food crumbs, lean on each other when exhausted, and have no sense of personal boundaries.

When Jinho first brought Hongseok around, to their game nights, on their noraebang adventures, he had been accustomed to skin-ship monster ways, but it’s a little different watching his friends barnacle themselves onto Hongseok too. When they’re all singing and Jinho doesn’t want to ruin their move he’ll turn on a rock song, an English one like something by Green Day if Hongseok looks especially comfortable where he is, and drag Hongseok out inconspicuously to belt out 21 Guns with him.

It’s more of a non issue, and Jinho could have let it die if need be, but he’s too old to do things he doesn’t want to. They’re lying on a firm King sized mattress, cotton sheets, entangled under and with a down comforter, and Jinho remembers huddling together on his twin sized mattress nine years ago. He hadn’t been able to afford a bed frame or proper sheets, so the bed sat on the ground with a thrift store table cloth thrown over it, secured with staples on the underside. Hongseok hadn’t had anywhere else to turn and so he stayed, and they slept tucked into each other for two years.

The bed they have now could fit two more adults and three children, comfortably, but they meet in the middle anyway.

“Are you awake?” Jinho asks, rhetorically so he can muster the strength to verbalise this. He lies that this is the last time he’ll say something this stupid until his own mind is convinced.

“Yeah?” Hongseok asks, the grip his arm has on Jinho’s waist tightening for a moment as proof. “What’s up?”

“You know when Hyojong asked if we still get jealous last Tuesday?” Jinho asks.

“Vaguely.” Hongseok murmurs, after a moment of thought. “He has the strangest questions. Too many questions.”

“Well I was lying. It happens. Sometimes.” Jinho feels his spine physically curling with the effort it takes to say this out loud. “I don’t like it when other people use your shoulder.”

“My shoulder?” Hongseok repeats, intrigued. “Use them for what?”

“Use them isn’t what I mean.” Jinho sighs. “Touch? Them?”

“I need you to show me.” Hongseok is probably suppressing the shit eating grin on his face, but Jinho wants to punch him anyway.

“Just forget I said anything. It’s not a big deal.”

“I want to know!”

“It’s not important!” Jinho protests, but Hongseok is clinging onto this. He sits up, standing momentarily to lift Jinho until he’s sat up against the mattress too, and then throws an arm over Jinho’s shoulders.

“Like this?”

“No, I’m not twelve.” Jinho protests.

“This?” Hongseok repeats, pushing Jinho sideways a bit so he can administer a shitty massage.

“No.”

“Is it-”

“Like this.” Jinho gives up, leaning his head on Hongseok’s shoulder, right into the groove his ear has probably dug out at this point, and meets Hongseok’s eyes because he’s thirty four goddammit he can have conversations like an adult.

“Ahhhh.” Hongseok replies, and Jinho doesn’t like the expression he sees so he shoves Hongseok half off the bed.

“Shut up. Turn the lights off; I’m going to bed.”

Hongseok has fun with it, asking Jinho if he needs to borrow a shoulder with increasing frequency through the next week, but the teasing dips off after a week and Jinho thinks it’s the end of it. Full disclosure reached. Level ten gay. The end.

He’s forgotten how dumb they are though, because maybe two months later Hongseok goes to a baseball game with Jinho’s old college gang and comes back with a tattoo.

“I did something stupid.” Hongseok prefaces, speaking as soon as he opens the bedroom door to change; Jinho could probably wake up if someone dropped too many cotton puffs. “I wasn’t wasted or anything, but I had a few beers during the game, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Does it still seem like a good idea now?” Jinho pries, wondering what kind of mess he’s in for. It’s just Hongseok, wearing more or less what he had on when he left, face a little sweatier, a little redder. No injuries, at least.

“I mean, if you think it’s a good idea?” Hongseok replies; it has been quite some time since he’s sounded so unsure.

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we.” Jinho responds cryptically, hiding his face in the collar of his shirt when it’s too bright. He still smells like Hongseok’s favourite shower gel.

“Hyojong thought it was cute.” Hongseok adds, stripping his jeans off. This is the first suspicious sign, since Hongseok always takes his shirt off first. Or the second, actually, because first and foremost Jinho doesn’t trust anything Hyojong deems a good idea.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I should shower first?”

“What is it?”

“I smell really-”

“Yang Hongseok I swear to god.” Jinho groans, throwing his feet over the side of the bed to stand up. “Spit it out.”

Hongseok takes his shirt off in lieu of saying anything, meaning Jinho’s first reaction is the slew of dirty jokes that would be appropriate, and his second is that everything looks as usual. There’s something shiny on Hongseok’s shoulder, on Jinho’s side, and when Jinho squints and walks closer he sees it’s a band aid of some sort. If he’s going to be soullessly honest then he would prefer Hongseok get any accidental cuts on the other side, but it’s not bleeding or anything so Jinho’s just glad it’s not serious.

It’s not a cut.

“Okay to be honest I got it before the game.” Hongseok rambles, anxious as Jinho comes closer to inspect the design. “Hyojong and I had time so we were going to grab dinner with Shinwon beforehand but then Shinwon didn’t show up and Hyojong had been meaning to get another hole in his ear and I followed him to the shop and they did ink too and I was bored and it seemed like a good idea I don’t fucking know Cho Jinho I swear to God if you don’t say anything soon I’m going to throw myself out the window.”

‘趙珍虎’ is what the ink reads, or how Jinho would have written his name before King Sejong.

He’s immediately taken back to fourth year, some girls in his class talking about how Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie got couple tattoos. The Beckhams too, Johny Depp, even Katy Perry.

The class had mostly been in the ‘never would I ever’ and ‘weird American things’ camps and nine year old Jinho had fake gagged at all the notions with the best of them, his voice projecting into the hallway and garnering unwanted attention from other teachers, but there had been a significant minority of people who thought they were kind of cute. A few of them clearly just wanted tattoos, in any shape or form, and was glad to see some that weren’t blurred out or censored, but Hongseok apparently falls into the pure romantic category.

Jinho should probably feel pressured by the weight of those words, and the fact Hongseok has them right under his left collar bone more or less permanently. He does feel that the next day, and gets a little dizzy thinking about it, but for now he likes it way more than he’ll ever admit.

“You really shouldn’t cater to my immaturity.” Jinho tries to sound responsible but for some god damn reason his mouth is watering.

“I wanted too.” Hongseok aims for casual and ends up over shooting past Jupiter, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“I like it.” Jinho reassures, when Hongseok continues to fidget. “Or, well, it’s not a mistake.”

“That’s how I live my life.” Hongseok replies dryly, trying to walk off but getting dragged back by the wrist. “One near-mistake after another!”

“You shouldn’t have.” Jinho sighs, oddly entranced by the crinkly sounds the cover makes when Hongseok swings his arms petulantly. “I like it. But you shouldn’t have. I mean it. I like it. Stop worrying.”

Jinho should probably have had a bigger reaction, but he doesn’t know what to do with gestures, events, pressure, celebrations. The fact he had been half conscious doesn’t help, and Hongseok is a little pouty at breakfast the next morning because neither of them know what to make of this new development.

He likes it though, even if he shouldn’t. Even if it’s burdensome at first, and leaves Jinho trying to recenter for a while, he likes it. It looks nice. He can’t help it. It’s in a neat row of lines that doesn’t peek through Hongseok’s formal wear for work, but peeks out when he’s in casual clothing, and the vast majority of people walking down the street can’t actually read it so there’s the element of exclusivity as well.

It’s pretty too, a glossy black ink, weighted calligraphy letters that seem to dance on Hongseok’s skin, and they look even prettier framed with Jinho’s teeth marks. He probably shouldn’t, because he can taste how thin and raw the new skin is on his tongue, but Jinho can’t help himself.

___

At first, a lot of people were surprised they made it to one year. It’s not easy, by any means, but looking back Jinho had never seriously considered breaking it off.

Stars are brighter when it’s dark.

Hongseok left home at sixteen and spent his savings account living it up in Bali before going to culinary school in China, and then landing himself a mid-rank kitchen position at a nicer French restaurant in Seoul. That’s where he is when he meets Jinho; being a Chef doesn’t pay well unless you’re an entrepreneur or make it onto television so he’s a little worse for wear, and it takes him months to learn how to budget his paycheck properly, but he gets there.

“It’s relaxing.” Hongseok shrugs, when Jinho asks him if he misses his family, money, housekeepers, air conditioning. He wants to work his way up a kitchen before opening his own restaurant, the theme of this restaurant changing on a weekly basis.

The only inconvenience is that Hongseok refuses to eat at chain restaurants, launching into long spiels about the death of culinary art something something, so Jinho can only eat KFC when they’re apart, periods of time that are starting to appear fewer and further between.

The French restaurant has been standing for a while, meaning they have a dependable customer base and there are definitely floater chefs making less than Hongseok in the city, but it also means the furniture has been standing for a while. One of the shelves is apparently rusted through, so when Hongseok grabs a can of crushed tomatoes off the second shelf the entire falls on him.

He goes to the hospital to get a cast for his fractured shin, and then back to work to get his severance check and the sack. It’s the end of October at this point, and they’ve already had their first snow, meaning there’s no way Hongseok even make it to work safely between the slick sidewalks and icy stairs, let alone run around a tiled kitchen filling orders ten hours a day.

Jinho doesn’t say anything, just visits Hongseok with takeout when he has time, because even though he wants to it feels like they’re moving forward a little too quickly. It isn’t until Hongseok jokes about moving back into his parent’s basement that Jinho budges.

“You could move in with me.” Jinho offers, resolutely staring at the wall and refusing look Hongseok in the eye. “Not that I have room, but it’s a step up from the streets. Maybe half a step when the boiler’s broken.”

Hongseok prideful at first, a little embarrassed, and brushes it off, self preservation isn’t an options past a certain point so he ends up knocking at Jinhoo’s door at three in the morning on a Saturday. It takes them five bus trips to move Hongseok’s shit over, but no one they know has a car and taxis are expensive.

“I’m glad I didn’t die.” Is Hongseok’s consensus at first, unloading his stuff at Jinho’s table. That turns into his desk for the immediate future, and the two start eating meals on the floor in the kitchen.

“I wish it had been an arm instead.” Hongseok says on night, a couple months into house arrest. The closest thing he’s found to work is this website where small businesses will pay you for translations per document; it’s hard to make it outside when you can’t afford crutches.

Jinho’s trying to be dependable, but he’s really not, and four months in, while he’s considering stealing cup noodles from the corner store, he draws a line and Hongseok takes out a loan to they can eat.

Hongseok keeps this a secret for a long time, but Jinho comes home one day and half of Hongseok’s stuff is gone. Even the Lancet knife set, that Hongseok used to brag was worth more than the entire two years he spent in Bali.

“I took out a second loan.” Hongseok says stiffly, when they’re slurping ramyeon on the ground. The two don’t really talk during meals from November to January, or much at all when they’re in the apartment then, because hearing about Jinho’s day makes Hongseok bitter and hearing about Hongseok’s day makes Jinho anxious. “I’m getting a business degree online.”

Jinho’s immediately reminded of the time Hongseok borrowed his phone to call his mom a week ago.

“Can I maybe the borrow the money?” Hongseok had asked, aging twenty years once the words were out.

“I just got out of the hospital.”

“I was evicted from my apartment.”

“I’m staying at a friend’s house… and I need help.”

“I don’t have a son anymore.” His mother had replied, tone flippant, to every single question, until Hongseok had thrown the phone at the ground, seething, Jinho’s case cracking with a crisp snap of plastic. Jinho had picked his phone off the ground and gone out for a walk, and come back past midnight.

“Do your par-” Jinho starts, wondering if that’s what started this whole thing.

“No.” Hongseok replies, firmly ending the conversation.

Jinho does a lot of Googling when he’s at university, because asking Hongseok to his face is out of the question now. Maybe it’s depression? Seasonal depression? But it could also just be excessive stress. Maybe he’s got insomnia? Maybe he’s just got to wait it out, until Jinho’s working and making money, and the two stop seeing won signs instead of colours.

It only lasts until the cast is off, someone in February, and Hongseok gets a job at the Cafe Bene near their apartment almost immediately. His first day back from work he has two plastic takeout containers in hand, a curry and a drunken noodle dish. When Jinho gets back from class they eat sitting close enough for their elbows to brush, and Hongseok asks questions. Starts to care about Jinho’s papers, exams, friends again. Asks if Hwitaek ever asked the boy from his class out.

They move across the city, a little more North, when Jinho graduates and starts working at the main KBS building. Hongseok stops doing translation work on the side when he comes home for an interview he wouldn’t tell Jinho about, and says he has a new job as an errand boy for the human resources sector at the KFC Corporate building.

Jinho can only hug him at this point.

“I don’t hate myself as much as I thought I would.” Hongseok shrugs, arms coming up on Jinho’s shoulder and chin digging into his scalp. It’s the first time he’s mentioned himself and a feeling in the same sentence since the injury.

Things get better after that.

___

There’s a management retreat for KBS lower staff once every three years. They go down to Busan, eat too much seafood, drink too much rice wine, and on one of the four days someone from upper management shows up to feel important and say some words about community. Jinho’s goal, even as a first year getting his Masters in Business Management, had been to make it to this retreat before he turned forty. He ends up going on his first retreat at thirty-three, giddy and accomplished.

He’s pretty happy with himself conceptually, because when he had made these goals a decade ago, he hadn’t met Hongseok yet. It’s not like they can’t spend any time apart at all, and both have definitely taken trips apart occasionally, but you miss familiar company more when present company is shit.

Hyesung, Shin Hyesung, is their upper management spokes person talking about social integration on the second day. After the talk they head to a Japanese style barbecue restaurant, where Hyesung sits at the end of a table like a throne. He’s rambling about how he couldn’t imagine sharing a bank account with someone, how he wipes his internet history before letting his wife use his laptop, and all Jinho’s colleagues are nursing his cock and nodding enthusiastically. Increasingly unbelievable stories about spousal mistreatment are coming out in an effort to garner favour for the next round of promotions, and Jinho excuses himself when Kibum is telling an animated tale about the time he pushed his husband out of window for breaking his phone charger.

Jinho wants to go home.

Jinho misses watching Hongseok cook, misses tuning out as Hongseok complains about customers and tuning back in as soon as Hongseok starts talking about his manager. Chef Park is a riot, a dumb ass, but still a riot.

Jinho misses washing the dishes, reaching for a plate so he can neatly stack the entire sink as he soaps them all, before rinsing them all clean in one go. All the while there’s a Hongseok Voice in his head that nags him to wash the paring knife and cleaver first, to make sure they don’t hide in the suds and sneak up on him later, but Jinho’s been washing dishes since he was six and hasn’t lost any fingers. ‘Yet’, the Hongseok Voice will sigh, trying to get the last word in, while actual Hongseok just brews tea, having given up on Jinho’s dish washing years ago.

The weather is nice, a bit chilly with the evening breeze, but Jinho’s flushed with a soju buzz and opts for an evening walk since it feels like a waste to head back so soon. There aren’t a lot of people milling around, definitely less than when they had all headed to a fast food chain for lunch earlier in the day, but it’s not deserted by any means. There is evening chatter in the background as Jinho heads into the shopping district, but its softer than its day time counterpart, and it accompanies the ocean’s acoustics rather than drowning them out.

He’s not drunk, really, and barely buzzed by the time he’s hit fourth street, but when he sees a tattoo parlor he’s hit with an ache that makes Hongseok seem further away than he usually is.

I’m going to do something stupid, he decides.

Jinho doesn’t know where he gets the nerve to walk through the door, but once he’s in the lady working there is definitely 80% of the reason he goes through with it. Hongseok’s family has their own Wikipeda articles, so finding the Chinese characters for his name is easy enough, but Jinho’s a little nervous going under the needle.

“Where do you want it?” The artist asks, sanitising her gun, and Jinho thinks this is all moving a little too fast.

“I haven’t really decided.” Jinho replies meekly, wondering if she’ll tape him down if he tries to leave. “This is my first one.”

“Arm?”

“I’d like to be able to hide it for work.”

“Thighs are popular.” She says casually, grabbing an ink cartridge.

“I don’t know that I’ve seen a thigh tattoo.” Jinho furrows his brow.

“There’s a lot of fat there, so it’s less painful and a good choice for first timers. You don’t see them because they’re easy to hide too.” She explains, grabbing a razor. “I’m going to need you to take your pants off for this.”

“Maybe just the ‘Yang’ character?” Jinho tries one last time, unbuckling his slacks.

“Just his family name? Let me ask you this, how much do you like your in-laws?”

Jinho gets all three characters, vertically down his inner right thigh. He’s done a good few walks of shames in his time, but nothing freaks him out as much the walk back to his room. He takes the back entrance and the stairs instead of the elevator, not sure what excuse he could give if he ran into a coworker and they asked him about the strange crinkly plastic sound coming out of his pants with every step.

The tattoo itself hadn’t been unbearable, but the location was a mistake because it’s not like Jinho’s got a thigh gap, so every, chaffing step he takes is one step closer to hell. It’s not fully healed, but there are some solid looking scabs in place, and there’s no more tell-tale crinkling of plastic so Jinho doesn’t really know how to tell Hongseok. Before dinner? After dinner? Over dinner?

“I did something stupid.” Jinho blurts out, still standing in the doorway of their apartment. Hongseok had been seated on their sofa and was on his way over, but stops to consider Jinho’s expression.

“Stupid?” Hongseok repeats, eyes widening when Jinho refuses to elaborate. “Stupid?”

“Stupid.” Jinho sighs, taking his coat off and hanging his keys up, finally remembering the key hook there on his way in since he’s been stalled at the doorway for so long.

“Is this what I think it is?” Hongseok asks, pressing Jinho into their mattress and spotting a flesh coloured band aid when he’s peeling his pants off.

“Something something star stuff.” Jinho mutters into the crook of his arm, the one he’s using to hide his face behind.

Hongseok likes it, even if he doesn’t so as much, and rims him that night until Jinho is letting out full bodied sobs and there are tear tracks on their pillow cases.

The biggest change is in Jinho himself though, because even though he’s made fun of physical relationship tokens like rings and a certificate, it feels different when he’s got a tangible representation of Hongseok on him.

People threaten to leave when they get angry. Children will run away from home, packing anything for a favourite toy to food items depending on how fast they have matured, but always returning in the end. You can drop out of school, quit your job, break up. Jinho pictures their relationship as a main street, where he’s been driving, but where it’d be easy to turn at any point and head somewhere else. The intersections seem to fade out of focus after he gets inked though, redirecting his attention to the horizon ahead.

___

  
They both get asked endlessly about whether they feel like they’re settling down too early, though the questioning had drifted off once Hongseok turns the curb into thirty. Got asked might be more accurate. It had bothered Jinho a little in the early years of his late twenties, having someone to go home to when some of his superiors at work were still drinking until two in the morning on weekdays. 27 year old Jinho is too new at this whole _domestic_ thing to know how to properly communicate these concerns to Hongseok, and they culminate during Christmas the year after Hongseok’s shin finally recovers.

The Yang’s are in Singapore, living in some house big enough to have wings labeled after both cardinal directions and ancestors, and Hongseok hasn’t been in contact since he fractured his shin. It’s been years.

“Your grandfather is expecting you.” Hongseok’s father has a secretary that Hongseok refers to as ‘Mr. Lee’ in his presence and ‘ass’ in all other situations. He’s the one who makes the call. “The celebrations will begin the week of the nineteenth, and last until January eleventh.”

“I don’t have the finances to return.” Hongseok replies. It’s a lie, thank fucking god, but Jinho can’t fault him for it.

“Your father has emailed you accommodations.” Ass fires back.

“I have work on the third.”

“The flight can be moved up to accommodate your schedule.”

“I’m not coming without my boyfriend.” Hongseok puts down his last card, and it’s quiet on the line for a few moments.

“Flight accommodations can be made for your roommate as well.” Ass agrees, after a few moments. Jinho doesn’t catch the specificity, but Hongseok was raised differently.

“Room accommodations as well.” Hongseok retorts.

“The house is a bit full at this time of the year, as you can imagine. We don’t have too many rooms to go around.”

“Mine should be free, I presume.”

“We can have two rooms ready for the both of you, from the nineteenth to the second.” Ass acquiesces immediately, and hangs up with preamble.

“Hey.” Hongseok sighs, ending the call, and looking up at Jinho like it wasn’t on speaker. “What are you doing for Christmas this year?”

It’s the worst Christmas Jinho has ever spent.

This statement includes the one from the previous year, where he had still been a student and Hongseok had been knee deep in hospital loans and they had ended up eating Chocopies Jinho stole from work for dinner because all the convenience stores within a comfortable walking distance were closed and neither of them had the money to keep a T-pass open. They had gotten bored of the taste halfway through the box, and had tested out burying some in the snow to see if a crisper chocolate coating was more palatable.

The boiler in that building had been broken (read: turned off by their sleazy landlord) too, but the image of Hongseok stumbling through the front door, Chocopies in hand, softly brushing snow flowers out of his hair and letting them fall like crystals, had kept Jinho warm that night.

They arrive in Singapore exhausted, famished, and Jinho’s trying to be positive as he hides in Hongseok’s shoulder on the Taxi ride there, tropical sunlight blinding even through the tinted car glass. Hongseok’s normal until they get to the house gate, and he shoves Jinho off so hard he almost goes flying into the car window.

“We’re here.” Hongseok apologises weakly, expression unreadable. Jinho’s annoyance is too obsessed with the weather to reorient itself towards Hongseok, but it really doesn’t stay that way for long.

Hongseok at home walks around like he has rocks for shoulders, expression troubled, simultaneously meek and commanding, smiles sinister instead of welcoming. They’re always together, glued to each other’s sides the entire trip, but Jinho feels like he’s being baby sit rather than shown around. He gets nudged if he eats too quickly and picks up the wrong fork, dragged if he sees something scenic and wanders onto imported grass worth more per square meter than his life, scolded if he naps through things nobody told him about—like ‘afternoon tea.’

The only relief is that Hongseok’s parents aren’t at home much of the time, dining with guests and burning money across the island like matchsticks. Leading up to Christmas, he meets Hongseok’s grandmother, his mother’s mother, the single sane person on the estate, and the house staff. Their only hiring criteria seems to have been having judgmental eyebrows. He doesn’t meet Yang’s themselves until it’s closer to Christmas, and it would look unhomely for them to prance around outside.

“You must be Cho Jinho, Hongseok’s friend.” Mrs. Yang greets him the first time he meets Hongseok’s parents, at the gazebo on the property, for Christmas Eve dinner. She spits out the world ‘friend’ like it stains her teeth.

“Remember to take off your shoes before you step up.” Hongseok’s father sneers, the only ten words he tosses Jinho’s way the entire night.

He’s not as lucky with Hongseok’s mother.

“Have you eaten meat before?” She asks, when the family’s attendees are coming around and carving a ham. “This is pork. What if you’re allergic and never found out? Be careful, okay? Just give him a small serving to start out with. Don’t want to ruin everyone’s night so early on.”

“I eat pork regularly.” Jinho replies stiffly, nodding when the carver looks at him pitifully.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” The wench sighs. “Your parents should have saved that money for your education instead! Education is the real investment.”

Jinho just eats, tries not to let the conversation rot the food, and ignores Hongseok so he doesn’t have to be disappointed when Jinho looks over to see him busy talking to someone else.

It’s like he’s alone at the table, because even if he’s a guest, their Hongseok is different. Hongseok who talks about how he used to work in a kitchen as management experience, who talks about getting a business degree like it’s what he wants instead of what depleted resources have forced him into. Who uses customised forks instead of chopsticks, does his hair up in crisp waves instead of waiting for his sweat to shellac it to his forehead. Jinho should maybe be angry, betrayed, but it’s hard to feel anything but out of place because that’s Hongseok but that’s not Jinho’s Hongseok.

Jinho’s Hongseok, who likes to guess spices when they get skewers at street carts. Who visits Noryangjin and can, even blindfolded, tell the species and freshness of anything Jinho picks up just by smell. Who brushes Jinho’s hair instead of his own in the morning, because he likes the bed head look, and cried when he sold off his knife set to make one of his rent payments.

The bathroom is the closest thing there is to an escape, so Jinho excuses himself and all but sprints to the West wing, where he remembers seeing a restroom.

“Don’t use that one.” Hongseok chides, physically yanking Jinho out of the bathroom by his upper arm. “There’s one on the second floor.”

“Why?” Jinho snaps, yanking his arm out of Hongseok’s reach.

“Grandma has to pay my father for utilities.” Hongseok explains, expression still foreign. “Water, electricity, and heating. Use the one on the second floor.”

“That’s terrible.” Jinho replies, thinking of the frail old lady, on bed rest, the only person in this goddam country who had been happy to see him since he got here.

“It’s the way things are.” Hongseok shrugs, still a stranger.

“Your parents are terrible.” Jinho clarifies, both angry because he’s here and scared of man standing in front of him that doesn’t feel things.

“I-”

“Your parents are terrible.” Jinho repeats, hands clenching into fists. “And you are their son.”

When he storms up the stairs, Hongseok doesn’t follow.

They don’t break up on the trip, and one of now-Jinho’s prides is the fact they haven’t officially broken up once since that first night. For 27 year old Jinho though, it’s more to do with the fact he locks himself in his guest room the rest of the trip, keeping himself sane by Skyping with his parents and video-chatting Kyungsoo, who’s single this year and will settle for petulant-Jinho as company. Hongseok is skeptical when Jinho claims he’s sick, but Jinho slams the door closed before Hongseok can feel his forehead and tells him to go to med school before arguing.

Jinho tries to be understanding, and it worked at first, but what pisses him off the most is how it feels like he’s being passed over. He was the one who took Hongseok in when he broke his leg, he was the one who fed both of them for those six months, he was the one who had stuck in there even through the misfortune. And now that Hongseok’s come out, shiny and new and smiley, and his family wants to be civil with him again, Jinho’s just tossed aside. Now that he’s finally smiling again, he wants to go off and be happy somewhere else. Jinho deserves more than that; he’s earned more than that, even if that’s not how things work.

Back in Korea things are tense, but silent, and a lot of his coworkers are still on Holiday so he covers enough shifts to not see Hongseok’s face outside of their bed for a good six days.

“Finally having trouble in paradise, huh.” Baekhyun notes, watching Jinho bore holes into the kimchi fried rice in front of him.

He’s been on edge since he’s gotten back, and Hongseok’s been busy with all the families and couples coming into the restaurant on break, but Jinho feels like he’s the one who deserves an apology so he doesn’t want to be the one to put himself out there.

“It’s not really paradise.” Jinho notes, shoveling an enormous spoonful of rice into his mouth and talking afterwards anyway. He hasn’t been on a blind date in almost four years; the fuck is he trying to impress? “It was never really paradise.”

“Forgive me if I’m unsympathetic.” Baekhyun snaps back, harmless. He’s one of the assholes Jinho went to university with, lived off corner store food with, stayed up for days on end with. Now they’ve all been out of school for a couple of years it had taken a moment for Jinho to adapt to the changes in their relationship, but he knows they’re still his people, even if they can’t message each other everyday or go on three am snack runs like they used to.

Jinho shovels more food, spiting Hongseok with every grain. Despite the fact they’ve been dating too long to get traditional bouts of jealousy, and the fact Hongseok isn’t a chef, anymore and technically, he gets a little pouty when Jinho eats someone’s else’s home cooking without him. That’s why they’re in Baekhyun’s apartment right now, instead of the outdoor barbeque shack they usually visit.

“Is this the first time you’re running away from home?” Baekhyun asks, not sure what to make of the fact Jinho’s almost done eating.

“So we have been together for three years, which is kind of long, but it’s definitely not paradise.” Jinho replies. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t talk for four months of those three years too, so it’s barely two.”

“That’s not how math works.”

“I mean yeah, we had like a weird gay awakening thing and then we slept together a couple of times, but then there was like two months before his whole leg thing happened.” Jinho sighs. “And then that was like two months of recovery, and then two months of limping, and then two months of him losing his goddam mind and deciding to go to business school online and the first year of our relationship was over.”

“Life happens.”

“Maybe we’re just together because we’re used to each other.” Jinho reasons. “Like we spent that first year together, and I mean it’s not like I was going to kick him out when he was homeless, and then a year passed and we just got into the habit of being together. Why are we still together?”

“Maybe. Switch things up.”

“I mean who the fuck does he think he is? I was the one there even when he was a worthless piece of shit! I was the one there when he was flat ass broke! He actually called his mom you know, when things were really bad.” Jinho says, picturing twenty three year old Hongseok’s face, tears streaming down, trying to hide the fact he’s crying when his mother hangs up on him. “They told him he was dead to them.”

“He’s a lucky bastard.” Baekhyun agrees, reaching for his water. “This probably makes me an asshole, but I don’t think I could play caretaker for half a year, no matter how much I liked the guy. That’s really heavy shit.”

“He has no redeeming qualities.” Jinho protests, dramatically slamming his spoon into the table. “He’s like almost six feet tall and still scared of bugs for fuck’s sake.”

“What an ass.”

“He doesn’t get along with Jongdae either.” Jinho groans. “Jongdae is hilarious. I should have dated Jongdae instead. He says he’s too bitey. The fuck does that mean?”

“Jongdae’s okay.”

“And now that he’s making money he picked up this dumb health thing! Just because you eat 5000% of your daily recommended greens doesn’t mean your bones won’t break anymore. I’m too young for my taste buds to die.”

“Are you staying over then?” Baekhyun asks, setting his water down.

“What?” Jinho replies, confused.

“Because you’re mad at him? Have you never run away from home before?” Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “You can sleep on the couch. Some time away from each other will help you cool off or whatever.”

Jinho agrees because he feels a bit lame, but when he’s laying down on Baekhyun’s couch, under a spare blanket, the entire thing just seems ridiculous.

Is he really so mad that he’s going to bed without brushing his teeth, his entire mouth feeling grimey since Baekhyun doesn’t have spare toiletries and mouthwash can only do so much? So mad that he’s going to sleep with the scratchy sounds of Baekhyun’s neighbours dogs echoing through the floorboards? Maybe he should be, and maybe it’s a little gross that he already felt like something was wrong eating dinner across from Baekhyun instead of at home, but Jinho ends up sneaking out at two in the morning. He’s light with his feet, and doesn’t turn on a single light because if Baekhyun asks him why he’s going home Jinho doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it. He doesn’t think Baekhyun will understand, even if he does.

It’s a fifteen minute trip back home, in which he realises he forgot his belt and tie on Baekhyun’s counter, and when he opens the door all the lights are off.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that he can make out Hongseok’s side profile, sat at the kitchen table, two white Styrofoam boxes in front of him. One, the one closer to Hongseok, is empty. The second box is full, noodles shiny with any stray street light filtering in through their windows, and Hongseok is stiffly digging through them to find all the slices of bell pepper and stack them on top.

“I’m really thankful for you.” Hongseok says, still looking at the rice noodles.

“Maybe we should talk tomorrow.” Jinho replies, sliding into his seat.

“It’s easy to meet people when you’re rich.” Hongseok explains; Jinho takes the unused pair of chopsticks next to him and starts eating the peppers. They’re cold.

“Hm.”

“I mean it’s the same for job interviews and dates I guess. Best foot forward.” Hongseok continues. “When you’re doing well it’s easy to meet people, but I-I… I was a mess. I’m still pretty much a mess, and I don’t know why you didn’t just leave me but I don’t know what I would have done if you had. At first I thought I was taking advantage of you, when we first moved in, because I was a literal piece of shit that couldn’t even afford rent, but then I got scared that you’d break up as soon as I got better, that it was all just pity.”

Jinho doesn’t cry easily, but it feels like three lifetimes of stress is seeping out of his body right now, leaving him vulnerable, susceptible, free.

“You were there at my worst, and I can’t explain it well, I-I can’t put it into words, and it’s not like I was testing you, but that means more to be than anything. And every time I feel stressed, like nothing is in my control and northing’s going to turn out well, just the thought that you’ll be there calms me down. Like everything will be fine, even if I have no idea where I’m going, because you’re with me, so everything else is fine. Unimportant. Irrelevant.”

Jinho stares at the table until his vision blurs, until everything is just dark and splotches of light, because he doesn’t know what to do with this. With them, with Hongseok, with himself, with anything.

“I don’t like saying things because I feel dumb and I’m not good at it, but I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” Hongseok finishes. “And I thought this needed to be said.”

The tears have made their way down Jinho's chin now. He feels dirty; he feels sticky; he remembers the first time Hongseok fed him peaches all those years ago, and wonders if things were different then. If Hongseok's gravity didn't draw him in then, if it didn't feel like he couldn't breathe if they were apart for too long, if the universe itself hadn't seemed off kilter when they weren't on good terms. Or if they had been the same, under the bright sun then, orbiting each other just like they are now.

___

 

Cho Jinho sees Yang Hongseok for the first time, second time, third time, up until the 247th time in the 7/11 closest to his parents house. He’s doing his masters, with not enough of his tuition covered because networking his hard when neither of your parents went to university, and works the night shift while doing homework behind the cash register. It usually ends up being astronomy, because Jinho puts it off until the end, and he’s reading about galaxies most of the times Hongseok walks in.

Hongseok isn’t necessarily eye catching the first time he comes in, a little sweaty, clothing a little rumpled, eyebags a little heavy, mostly silent as he peruses the instant noodle selection. He certainly looked a shadow of the way Jinho sees him now, not because anything has actually physically changed, and if anything Hongseok’s starting to get wrinkly now, but in the way that things start to look more beautiful, more in focus, the closer you draw them to your heart.

Jinho doesn’t fall in love at first sight, but he takes notice, and curiosity starts to grow when every single day, without fail, the exhausted young man with the strange white hat walks in at four in the morning, right before Jinho’s shift is over.

Neptune has the gravitational force necessary to send Pluto spiraling off into space, into the Kuiper belt, into the sun, but with a 2:3 orbital resonance their paths will never cross.

“Out of curiosity,” Jinho starts on the 247th day, wondering if strange hat man feels the solar system realigning as their fingers brush when Jinho reaches for the cup noodles, “you don’t collect these, do you? Do you actually eat them all?”

Hongseok just laughs in response, says something or another and punctuates with a wink, but Jinho can’t hear him over the rush of air, the ringing in his ears, the pounding in his chest, the sound of his orbit changing.

They go out for Thai food, and Jinho thinks Hongseok is joking when he says he’s a chef at a four star restaurant on the nicer side of Seoul. A ramen chef, maybe. It’s not a funny joke at all, with no backstory and no punchline, but Jinho goes on a second date anyway because it makes sense.

Hongseok turns out to actually be a chef, until he isn’t, but the shitty sense of humor stays.

Jinho remembers that chapter in his astronomy book, about elliptical orbits and someone named Kepler, and tells Hongseok he’ll be home a little late on the Thursday they’re going out for their thirteenth anniversary dinner. It’s not their actual anniversary, because they had been busy that night and can’t be bothered to hold dates above each other, but it’s still nice to go out now that they have money.

Picking out a ring Hongseok will like isn’t difficult because he’s very familiar with Hongseok’s ring collection--a good half of time bear his teeth marks. He has the jeweler find a simple band that will fit around his middle finger so he can take the piece now, and heads on home, Hongseok not suspecting a thing because there’s nothing to suspect.

Jinho sits through the taxi ride, the appetizer, the main course without a word, in usual fashion, and they’re trying to pick a dessert when Jinho figures he’ll go for it.

The sun has a little over 5 billion years left to shine, the Earth has who knows how many before the Carbon cycle catches up to them, and Jinho doesn’t even know if he has tomorrow so this is how he’s going to spend today. Not waiting for Hongseok to change, not waiting for anything anymore.

“Hey.” Jinho croaks, reaching into his pocket. He’s glad he ditched the case at home; it’s makes things more pretentious, more unfamiliar.

“Hm?” Hongseok looks up from the menu, probably about to make the case for the brownie again.

“Let’s get married.” Jinho suggests, like they’re still talking about brownies and pie, setting the gold band down on the table in front of them. He’s scared the posh, ambient lighting will render it invisible, but it catches the candlelight and flickers noticeably.

“Oh.” Hongseok replies, picking the band up, turning it over in his hands, surprised. “Where did you hide this?”

“Hwitaek didn’t actually need me to stay after today.” Jinho explains.

“You have good taste.” Hongseok smiles, grins, elation erupting on his face even as he’s trying to keep his composure. He’s already put the ring on.

“Well?” Jinho presses after a few moments, stomach churning despite it’s load and his assurance; it takes Hongseok a minute to realise.

“Oh, of course.” Hongseok kind of laughs, kind of giggles, until they’re staring at each other across the table like a pair of idiots. “Let’s get married.” They’re a pair of idiots.

“Since I bought the ring though.” Jinho argues, cheeks starting to hurt. “I think we should get the pie.”


End file.
